I Drove a Family Friend to the Emergency Room – and his condition shifted from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. At family parties, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of different footballers from Sheffield Wednesday over the past 40 years.
Frequently, we would share the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, about 10 years ago, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, with a glass of whisky in hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but appearing more and more unwell.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing like they normally did. He maintained that he felt alright but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, carefully, to eat Christmas lunch, and failed.
So, before I’d so much as put on a festive hat, my mum and I decided to take him to A&E.
We thought about calling an ambulance, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, his state had progressed from poorly to hardly aware. People in the waiting room aided us help him reach a treatment area, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere was noticeable.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at holiday cheer in every direction, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.
Cheerful nurses, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
Heading Home for Leftovers
When visiting hours were over, we headed home to chilled holiday sides and Christmas telly. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.
It was already late, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?
Healing and Reflection
Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted deep vein thrombosis. And, although that holiday does not rank among my favorites, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
